


the heavy weight of living

by burningdarkfire



Series: a purpose in this world [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-05-05 09:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14615328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burningdarkfire/pseuds/burningdarkfire
Summary: Hanzo returns to Shimada Castle every year to mourn a brother he killed.





	1. (10 years ago)

**Author's Note:**

> The title is inspired by [the Bastille songs](https://open.spotify.com/album/7HxQpGRaQXPudaP1t8E6n9) and the entire fic is inspired by [this fanart](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com/post/172778740405/hey-so-maybe-scion-is-after-hanzo-killed-genji) (which you should check out for context to this first scene). I'm thirsty for the Scion Hanzo skin, so I wrote a 7k fic about how he mourns his brother. People do that, right?
> 
> I hope someone out there gets something out of all this. Enjoy!

Hanzo stares blindly at the ground.  A hand presses to his head, forcing him into something like a bow as he exposes the back of his neck.  He hears the cold snips of scissors.  He sees his hair falling to the ground around him. 

There is a sense of urgency in the air.  His aunt murmurs orders incessantly in the background.

 _Snip_.

His room has been returned to its proper state.  The knife that he had is gone.  The empty bottles are lined up neatly by the door to be taken out.  The spills on the floor have already been cleaned, servants scurrying anxiously around him while he and his aunt waited in silence for the hairdresser to be fetched.

 _Snip_.

Hanzo stares.  He has sat in this exact same spot countless times before.  This room was the room of his childhood, a place for him to play with toys or sneak a snack before bedtime.  As he became a teenager, he had travelled more and more, accompanying his father to missions and meetings.  He had slowly torn down all of his posters and put away his figures.  

 _Snip_.

Once his father died, Hanzo had moved out of this room entirely.  The head of the Shimada Clan did not sleep in his childhood bedroom.

Yet here he was, weeping silently.

 _Snip_.

Hanzo knows that if he went next door, he would see his brother’s room.  Genji had never grown into his role like Hanzo had.  His walls are still covered in colourful posters, displaying his favourite childhood anime next to scantily-clad models. 

Hanzo’s heart sinks and he realizes that soon the room will have to be emptied.  In fact, knowing his aunt, it has likely already been done.  All of Genji’s vibrant possessions taken away, leaving behind nothing, as if he had never existed.  A stain on the Shimada name that had been scrubbed clean.

 _Snip_.

Why could Genji not have just done as he was told?

 _Snip_.

* * *

Hanzo gets dressed agonizingly slowly.  He suffered no injuries, but he can barely force himself to move.  His fingers feel heavy, burdensome, and he drops his dress shirt twice before he can focus enough to slide his arms through the smooth material. 

The shirt is made of the finest silk in the country and tailored specifically to his measurements.  Yet as Hanzo does up his buttons, he feels constricted, unable to take a deep breath to calm his nerves.  His tie seems to chokes him as it tightens around his neck.  His vest weighs him down like a plate of armour.

His aunt waits outside.  Today Hanzo will speak at the funeral for his younger brother.  The casket will be closed.  He will inspire loyalty in his leadership and ensure that no enemies think him vulnerable.

Finished with his outfit, Hanzo runs a hand over his newly trimmed hair and beard.  He does not look in the mirror.

Hanzo is the head of the Shimada Clan.  He has chosen his path, and he must now do his duty.

His eyes are dry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates should be every week and each will cover a year.
> 
> Kudos and comments are love! :)


	2. (9 years ago)

Hanzo leads the Shimada Clan for one year.

Hanzo barely eats.  Hanzo barely sleeps.

But Hanzo is a good son and a loyal son.  Better than his foolish brother.  Better even than his soft father, who allowed a foolish son to run free.  Hanzo does what is necessary for the success of the family.

His aunt and the rest of the elders have finally been satisfied.  She no longer hovers over his shoulder at all times like a shadow.  There is still a guard posted to his door every night, supposedly for his safety, although Hanzo knows none of the men outside his bedroom. 

The old personal guard of his father is gone.  The elders have ensured that he has no friends in Hanamura Castle.  No one to conspire with, no one to confide in.  No one who could spark any memories of a different time.

Hanzo is courteous to the man outside his door.  He asks for a status update and nods when there is nothing to report.  He hopes that his aunt is satisfied with his attention to detail.  It shows that he is back on track and not distracted with unsightly emotional things, like mourning the brother he killed.

Hanzo slides his door closed behind him.  He changes into casual clothes, letting a day of meetings fall away from him.  He does a few stretches, warming up his muscles that are stiff from sitting too long.  He notices that one of his light bulbs is flickering.

He slides his door back open.

“Excuse me,” he says to the guard.  The man turns, a polite inquiry on his lips, before Hanzo knocks him out with a clean punch.

The Shimada guards are well trained and loyal to the family.  They were generally good men and women, as respectable as one could be while working a job like this one.  Many of them have families to feed.

Unfortunately for them, Hanzo was raised as heir to the Shimada Clan.  There were only two men in the country who might have matched him in a fight, and both of those men are dead.  When the alarms sound, he cuts through swathes of his family’s people and realizes he feels nothing.  None of the guards can even put a scratch on him.  They are all crippled by their hesitation to strike, regardless of whether it is out of confusion, loyalty, or fear.  But Hanzo does not hesitate.

_This is what I take with me_ , Hanzo thinks.  _A legacy of blood.  An intimacy with death._

He walks past his aunt’s usual guest room.  Unsurprisingly, she is not there.

_Nothing else._

The halls are empty, even as he reaches his destination.  Perhaps the guards have been called off or are regrouping somewhere.  It does not matter.  Hanzo is not disturbed in the dojo.  He takes his time with his offerings, even though they are insignificant against the splatter of blood he can still see on the wall hanging. 

It seems unlikely that his aunt had missed such an obvious stain for such a long time.  Hanzo has not been in this room in a year, yet he thinks that she had probably anticipated this.  The bloodied wall hanging is a subtle reminder. 

Incense drifts into the air.  It relieves none of the weight on Hanzo’s shoulders.

* * *

On the one year anniversary of Genji’s death, Hanzo sets aside his duty.  He lays down the sword that killed his brother.  He turns his back on Shimada Castle.

And he walks away into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update! Chapters should be up on Wednesdays instead of Fridays from now on.
> 
> Kudos and comments are love! :)


	3. (8 years ago)

Hanzo does not quite know how to feel about his first time back to Japan in nearly a year.  He had travelled across the world, seeking to put distance between himself and his upbringing.  He has realized he does not know how to live without being heir to the Shimada Clan.  He has never been anything else.

The world is large, larger than the shadowy meetings his father had frequently taken him to.  Hanzo is sure it is larger still than all the random bars and underworld dens he has occupied for the past year, but he has not yet seen it.  He spent many nights getting blackout drunk until he came face to face with the first assassin his aunt had sent to kill him.  He had realized he was not yet willing to die at her blade, even through a proxy.  She has already claimed too much life.  He will not sacrifice his own.  A few of his connections helped him escape, disappear, in exchange for a job or two.   

Hanzo visits his father’s grave.  He kneels, prepares his offerings, and asks for forgiveness.  He cannot put into words exactly what he apologizes for.

_I am sorry I did not become the man you wanted me to be.  I am sorry I abandoned my duty to your empire and your legacy.  I am sorry I killed your favourite son._

He lingers, repeating the process at the graves surrounding his father’s.  He prays to his mother and his brother.

_I wish you all happiness in the next life._

* * *

He leaves Hanamura for a few weeks.  It will not do for anyone to recognize him, so close to his old home, although he has fallen so far from grace that he doubts any guards would recognize him at a glance.  He had tried long hair once before, in his youth, and he still remembers his aunt’s clucks of disapproval.

He stays in his hotel room, unwilling to run the risk of being recognized by anyone in the streets, even far from his hometown.  Sometimes, he flicks through the TV channels or reads the magazines left out, pushing through the complicated knot in his chest as he is again submerged in his native Japanese.  He scans through the news covering the complaint the Japanese government has filed against Blackwatch with a dismissive eye.  It is the latest hot topic in the news ever since Bartalotti was killed in Venice and the organization came to light for the first time. 

Bureaucracy will never be able to govern the movements in the shadows, regardless of who clashes with who.  Hanzo knows this better than most.

Hanzo sits in his room and drinks.  He waits.

* * *

Hanzo returns to Hanamura when the cherry blossoms start to bloom.  He is careful, avoiding the gaze of any cameras, and pays for a room in a new hotel with staff he has never seen before at the edge of town. 

 _It is easier to sneak into the castle than it should be_ , Hanzo thinks as he knocks a guard unconscious.  He is surprised the patrol routes are still so predictable to him.  He knows little about the workings of the Shimada Clan for the past year.  Even in the underworld, or perhaps especially in the underworld, all information is merely a rumour, passed around in a whisper from ear to ear.

Everything is as it was a year ago.  Someone has cleaned up his previous offerings and it is clear the room is still dusted semi-frequently, but the wall hanging still hung with his brother’s blood.

Hanzo kneels and sets out his offerings.

* * *

After he pays his respects to Genji, Hanzo breaks into the weaponry.  He strolls past the walls of guns and moves instead towards the ancestral weapons of the Shimada Clan.   He has used only guns and fists for a year.  He is familiar enough with them to be efficient but never comfortable. 

Hanzo mulls over the choices.  There are notable absences in the display.  His sword remains in the room where he left it.  His brother’s sword is gone, and it sickens Hanzo to think that his aunt may have thrown it away haphazardly with the rest of Genji’s things.

Hanzo reaches out and takes the Storm Bow, feeling the heft of it in his hand.  His father had often used this bow whenever he personally oversaw Hanzo’s archery training.  It would suit his purposes fine.

For the first time in years, Hanzo feels a faint warmth from the tattoo on his left arm.  He frowns and dismisses it.

He leaves Shimada Castle without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think a steady undercurrent in this fic is going to be Hanzo struggling with a fundamental sense of self and questioning his sense of belonging in the world. If he leaves Japan, which I imagine he must, he becomes diaspora - he not only questions the morality of his clan and his upbringing, but he also finds himself struggling to make a "new" self when he is forcefully torn from the person he has always been (heir to the Shimada Clan) and the home he has always known (Hanamura), etc. It's something I would love to explore more in the Overwatch world.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are love :)


	4. (7 years ago)

Hanzo had not believed it when he first heard it, but as he stands atop the gate to Shimada Castle he is forced to accept the truth.

The Shimada Clan has been dismantled.  His home stands empty.  His father’s legacy – his family’s legacy of centuries – has been destroyed.

Hanzo feels a tightness in his chest as he watches yellow tape sway in the wind.

He moves through the castle cautiously at first, but is met with no surprises.  The buildings seem completely deserted.  He is surprised that Overwatch did not leave behind some guards, but he supposes that if they have taken all they wanted, they care little if teenage troublemakers want to steal some trophies for themselves.

Hanzo lingers in a hallway, running his hands over the holes and chips in the walls.  There was a significant firefight here, perhaps even the pivotal one that had decided the clan’s fate.  Hanzo had not been here for it.  He had spent the better part of the year in America.

He drifts from room to room.  The master bedroom is unsurprisingly barren.  From what he had heard, the elders had never appointed another head of the family, choosing to rule instead as a Council.  Hanzo wonders where his aunt is.  He had heard that all the elders have been detained, but he is confident that her cunning knows no bounds.

The main parts of the castle are all similarly stripped of any personality.  Under his aunt’s steely gaze, Shimada Castle had already been scoured clean of all warmth in the last year that Hanzo resided here.  Overwatch must have confiscated anything else of interest. 

Out of a morbid curiosity, Hanzo seeks out the storage rooms.  Years of dust greet him as he peers through ancient family relics, although numerous footprints and fingerprints suggest that the rooms have already been combed through by other agents.  He finds his grandmother’s photo albums and a box of his father’s suits but none of his own belongings.  His brother’s things are also conspicuously missing.  Hanzo wonders if his aunt had really burned them all.

Hanzo unfolds a shirt from a box, stifling a sneeze as dust rose into the air.  He traces his fingers over the design on the right sleeve.  It matches his tattoo perfectly.  The shirt is not familiar to him, perhaps belonging to some Shimada from generations prior, yet Hanzo feels compelled to fold it up and tuck it into his bag for safe-keeping before he turns to leave.  Let him take something by which to remember the Shimada Clan.

Heading now towards the dojo, Hanzo is surprised to find that it barely looks changed.  It seems unlikely that Overwatch would just leave his sword on display and untouched, but Hanzo remembers all the articles he has read lately in the news about corruption, negligence, and abuse within the organization.  Perhaps it was some underpaid or disgruntled worker who had swept a hasty eye over the room and left it as it was, thinking it was simply some kind of shrine.

It strikes Hanzo as suitable that even when the rest of Shimada Castle is emptied of its memories, this one room continues to bear witness to all that happened here.

He kneels and begins his offerings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the final blow to Hanzo's sense of self and that after the Shimada Clan falls, he realizes that he exists in the world, alone, untethered, with only his memories to keep him company. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are love!


	5. (6 years ago)

If possible, Hanzo thinks the castle looks even emptier this year than the last.  Overwatch has shut down and any jurisdiction they kept over this place is now defunct.  Hanzo is not sure who is meant to oversee this place now.  He frowns at the graffiti sprawling over formerly pristine walls.  Whoever it is is not doing a very good job.

He strides through the hallways, moving cautiously at first, then more boldly as it becomes apparent he is alone.  Thankfully he will not have to flush out any squatters who might be abusing his childhood home.  Shimada Castle has not fallen so far.  Despite the decrepit look from the outside, Hanzo is relieved to find the interior rooms have been left relatively untouched, only gaining a layer of dust.  He peeks into one room after the other, curious to find any remnants of the past few years, but the castle is truly abandoned.

He takes the time to clean up the dojo before he sets out his offerings.  He finds a broom in the same storage cabinet where they have always been stored and starts sweeping, the action bringing him back to many childhood hours doing the same thing here in the same place.  Now, the dust is thick.

Hanzo betrayed his family – first his brother, then his clan.  He never would have imagined this would be the fate of his family, of Sojiro and his sons.  Given the slow but steady decline of Overwatch, the underworld has been happily stepping into the gaps it left behind.  His father and his brother should be here, drinking with his aunt and the other elders as they celebrated their good fortune.  In another life, Hanzo would be a prince among men, not dusting an abandoned dojo by himself.

It takes hours to restore the dojo to some semblance of dignity.  Hanzo tries not to get swept away by the repetitive motions, the familiar sights.  Despite the fall of the Shimada Clan, the assassins after him have not stopped.  Hanzo is making a reputation for himself as a mercenary, even without any affiliation to his family.  If anything, he is more fearsome than ever before, having left behind such a name in the dust.  The Shimadas have fallen.  Hanzo has not.  

Finally, with the moon high in the sky, Hanzo kneels and sets forward his offerings.

Hanzo returns to his childhood room after.  He cleans it and lives there for two weeks, haunting Shimada Castle like a ghost.  Every day, he upkeeps the dojo, and otherwise sets right whatever else he can in the castle.  His heart is heavy.

When he feels the familiar prick at the back of his neck that suggests he is being watched, he moves on.  Shimada Castle has seen more than its fair share of assassins, having housed many in the same profession, but Hanzo has no particular interest in having a stranger disrespect him in his old family home.  Let them come to him in a derelict warehouse or an underground meeting somewhere.  It is time for him to move on anyway.

The castle has seen enough blood.


	6. (5 years ago)

Out of habit, Hanzo hides his face in Hanamura.  He enters a familiar bakery, letting nostalgic smells from his childhood wash over him.  When a quick glance around the nearly empty store assures him that no one will recognize him, he moves with a little more ease, taking some time to browse the display.

He walks out with a small cake and brings it back with him to his hotel room. 

He waits like he does every year, drinking while he peruses the Japanese news. It has been years since he last lived in Japan.  He operates mostly in Europe now, a melding of languages pouring into his ear and off his tongue, his prince’s upbringing serving him well.  He would not call it home.  Really, he could not call anywhere home.  It is certainly not Japan anymore, but he will always finds a particular satisfaction and comfort in returning and immersing himself in _nihongo_. 

Hanamura brings with it a particular tangle of knots in his chest, ones that he chooses steadfastedly to ignore.  The alcohol burns, keeping the emotions at bay.

He stubbornly refuses to glance at the closed mini-fridge where the cake resides.  _This is foolish_ , he thinks.  _Think of what the world would say about Hanzo Shimada, if they knew he was buying birthday cakes for the brother he killed._

Genji would have been 30 years old this year.  Hanzo recognizes that there is an irony in acknowledging birthday on a deathday, but he thinks of the cake more as an apology than a celebration.

He wonders what Genji might have been like, once he had grown out of his 20s.  Would he have grown out of his carefree ways, grown up into the his role in the Shimada Clan?  Or would he have continued to waste his potential, year after year?

The world will never know. 

Hanzo had made sure of that.

* * *

The dust lies heavy in Shimada Castle, and Hanzo curls his lip at the fresh displays of graffiti on its walls.  He moves to the dojo first, setting the cake box gently on the ground before checking for any intruders or assailants. 

Hanzo notes trace disturbances in the dust, signs of people who moved in and out of the buildings, but nothing recent or peculiar.  He takes up the broom again and sweeps, again finding peace in the work.  He is sure the castle has been residence to vagrants, thrill-seekers, and assassins alike, but for tonight it belongs to him and his memories alone.

When the dojo is restored, Hanzo kneels.  He sets out his offerings and sends his prayers to his brother. 

* * *

When the last tendril of smoke vanishes, curling upward out of sight in the dojo, Hanzo sits back.  He opens the cake box and cuts it in half, taking the smaller piece for himself.

Genji had loved this bakery, and Hanzo remembers how he would incessantly pester him to stop by after school every day when they were children.  Even after Genji was a teenager and had moved on to more adult indulgences, he would still drop by frequently on a whim to try a new seasonal cake or buy a small treat for his latest “friend”.  The old grandpa who ran the shop spoiled him rotten and often refused to give him up whenever Hanzo was tasked with fetching his wayward brother from wherever he had run off to on any particular afternoon, instead having the audacity to scold Hanzo himself for being too hard on his brother.

Hanzo takes a bite.  The cake is delicious, even better than he remembered.  He has not had anything as frivolous as cake in what feels like decades.  Once he hit his teens, he had been more worried about the pride of the family and keeping himself in his best possible shape for his training.

But he could hardly begrudge the spirit of a dead brother some of his favourite cake.  Perhaps Hanzo is going soft in his old age.

The cake is light, but still Hanzo eats it slowly, savouring each bite.  After a few minutes, the sound of his chewing begins to feel ridiculous, and he clears his throat and starts talking into the silence.

He feels foolish, speaking casually out loud to a spirit, but he does not stop.

He tells his brother that he had bought the cake on something of a whim today.  He reminisces about the one time he was eight, when he had saved up his allowance for weeks to buy his brother a cake, only for Genji to drop it on the ground nearly immediately (the old grandpa had taken pity on them and given them another).  He finds himself getting swept away in a tide of memories, the happiness of his brother’s loving _yo!_ mixing with the stubborn set of his mouth.  He speaks memory after memory out loud, and then he sits in silence for a few moments, sated.

“The world is changing, Genji,” Hanzo says suddenly.  “I am not sure I like what it is becoming.”

He finishes the last bite of cake and stays, chatting to his dead brother, long into the night.


	7. (4 years ago)

At Hanzo’s first glance, Shimada Castle is as he left it last year.  The graffiti is faded, with no indication that anyone had come to freshen up their art.  A quick sweep of the grounds reassures Hanzo that he is again alone in the castle, but he trails a finger on a table with a frown.  The dust is less heavy than he would expect for a year of inattention.  It looks like it was the result of mere weeks.

Someone had been here.  There was no way for Hanzo to know who, or for how long, but they had taken care of the place.  The dust was relatively uniform, suggesting the entire castle had been swept through at least once upon departure.  It had all been cleaned dutifully, much like Hanzo himself had attempted the last couple of years. 

Hanzo is unsettled.  It is one thing to know that the empty castle was an obvious attraction to anyone looking for an abandoned place to sleep for a night.  It is another thing to think that someone else had made something of a home out of it, had cared for it, and that their presence had been significant enough to deter other unwanted visitors.

It is a strange feeling, to feel like he might be creeping through someone else’s house. 

Hanzo shakes himself.  It does not matter what he feels about it.  Whoever had been here had moved on.  The rooms were empty and the castle was relatively unchanged.  They had treated Shimada Castle with respect.  There was honour in that.  That is all Hanzo needs to know.

He moves through the castle purposefully, ignoring any lingering unease he feels.  He tidies up the dojo first, keenly aware of how little time it takes to sweep away the thin layer of dust.  He then moves to the kitchens and checks the cupboards.  He decides to be thankful that Shimada Castle’s unknown visitors had kept everything where they found it, although the most expensive pieces of kitchenware are unsurprisingly long missing. 

He wipes away the thin layer of dust and fires up the stove. 

* * *

He sets the tray down carefully, placing one bowl in front of his sword.  He kneels and begins his offerings, repeating his yearly wishes for peace and prosperity. 

_May you be happy where you are.  Happier than you were in this life._

“Your favourite udon,” Hanzo says when he is finished.  He chuckles awkwardly.  “Well, I am sure you would find something to complain about.”  He had been picky with the ingredients, yes, but hardly had the time to home make a broth or anything particular like that.  “You used to always ask for this when you were sad but did not want to admit it.”

Hanzo had found, strangely enough, that he looked forward to this night.  It was a strange but relieving feeling, to talk with his dead brother, and he had often thought back to this day last year throughout the months.  It had taken a weight from his shoulders.

 _I am confessing to my sins_ , Hanzo thinks.  He drinks from his bowl, noting with satisfaction that the broth is a perfect saltiness.

He tells his brother about the rumblings in the underworld.  Talon has a scheme in the making – something _big_ , he is often told in hushed whispers – and it is very close to paying off.  Soon the world will be thrown into chaos again.

Hanzo has received offers, invitations from multiple organizations aware of the rumours.  Every group is tense, hoping to reap what profits they can in the promised chaos.  Somewhat surprisingly, he was even approached by Talon itself.

“The woman offered to restore the Shimada name,” Hanzo tells Genji, a scornful laugh in his voice.  “As if an organization like Talon knew anything about honour or restoration.”

He had turned them down, of course.  He had turned them all down.  Hanzo has no loyalty to anyone anymore.  He serves no master and believes in nothing.  He is an empty man and he knows it.

Hanzo stirs his chopsticks through his udon and wipes away his tears.  There is no use in crying for a brother he killed.  He drinks the salty broth and warmth seeps through his bones. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is curious, I imagine that Genji and Zenyatta were Hanamura's long-term visitors :) If I manage to finish up Genji's companion piece, you'll be able to get some glimpses into Genji's side of the story that Hanzo has no way of knowing. I just wanted to drop a note here for now since it's not supposed to be a mystery, haha.
> 
> Apologies for the late update, I had a busy day yesterday and unfortunately it slipped my mind!
> 
> I appreciate every kudos and comment, thank you all!!


	8. (3 years ago)

Hanzo does not expect the voice that cuts through the night.

“Shimada?  Is that you?” 

It has been so many years – how many? times seems to flow right through his fingers – since Hanzo was last recognized in Hanamura that he almost did truly believe he was a ghost, that this town could have forgotten the family that ruled over it for centuries.

He spins around, tensed for an attack, but finds himself face-to-face with a man around his age, dangling a cigarette between his fingers as he stands by the entrance to a _konbini_ , looking at him in simple bewilderment.

“Oh,” the man says, emotions warring across his face.  He bows respectfully.  “It’s you, Hanzo.”

The man makes no aggressive motions and he appears by all means to be a civilian.  He runs a hand through his hair and starts talking again.  “I didn’t know you –”

Hanzo cuts the man off with a sharp jerk of the head, motioning for the man to stay silent and follow him into a side alleyway.  He comes willingly.  It is enough for Hanzo to believe the man means him no harm.  Only a fool would peacefully follow Hanzo anywhere.

“Do I know you?”  Hanzo finds it difficult to place the face, let along give the man a name.

“No, probably not.  My name is Shouta.”  The man gives a self-conscious chuckle.  “I met you once, when you came to yell at Genji and take him home.  And I’ve always seen you around Hanamura, of course.” 

Hanzo notes the casual way Shouta uses Genji’s name as he continues.  “I was a, uh, a close friend of Genji’s when we were teenagers.  I thought you were him, just now, with your hair.  It is a style he would have liked.” 

Hanzo shoots Shouta a sharp look.  “My brother is dead.”

“I heard,” Shouta sighs, running a hand through his hair.  “But the funeral was closed, and with everything that happened in the years following, I thought for a moment it might have been a lie.”

“I didn’t even know you were alive,” he adds, after a brief moment’s pause.  “But it is good to see you, if I may say so.  I read in the papers about the arrests – and really, we’ve all always known – but Hanamura has lost a lot of its soul without the Shimada Clan.”

Hanzo thinks quickly as Shouta prattles on.  It is a little ironic, almost funny, for this inconvenience to linger from Genji’s indiscretions when he was younger, but this seems like little more than an unlucky encounter.  The less time Shouta spends with Hanzo and the less he knows about Hanzo, the better. 

Hanzo cuts through the chatter. 

“I would appreciate it if you told no one that I was here,” he says curtly.  “If you see me again, pretend you do not know me.”

Shouta looks startled but nods.  “Of course.”

Hanzo moves to leave, but Shouta calls after him, his voice carrying through the narrow alleyway.  “Be careful, Shimada!  There is a war in Russia again.  Who knows if the omnics will invade Japan next!”

Hanzo raises a hand in acknowledgement.

-

“You will not believe who I met today,” Hanzo says in the dojo, setting a feast of _konbini_ foods by his offering.  He is surprised to realize he feels peaceful – not fearful – after the encounter with Shouta.  The man was sincere, Hanzo thinks, and he shares the memories of a sun-filled Hanamura of his childhood.

“There is so much about you I do not know,” Hanzo says to his dead brother.  “There is much buried in the past.”  He pauses, hesitates.  He says slowly, “I miss you, Genji.  I wish you were here to trade stories with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shouta is a random throwaway OC. I wanted Hanamura to tug at Hanzo a little more, to remind him that the pressures and circumstances that led to the murder of his brother are inextricably tied to the happiest years of his life when he was surrounded by his (as he sees it) loving family. I think Hanzo can have a complicated nostalgia for his childhood, but he also needs to untie happiness from the past and start looking, carefully, to where he might find it in the future.
> 
> I've never been a ninja assassin but I have been a giant asshole of a teenager, and it's weird to look back and realize that I was a terrible person but also really happy in those years. But hey, we're all here for personal growth eh?


	9. (2 years ago)

Hanzo spends nearly the entire year in Japan.  He does not visit Hanamura – that feels somehow too much like tempting fate – but he takes the year to soak in the language, the culture, the _feeling_ of his people again.  He has missed this.

He moves from town to town, rarely staying in the same place for longer than a month.  Some places he visits are familiar, although he steers clear from the shady strip clubs and polished upscale bars alike that serve as gateways to the underworld.  Instead, he spends an overcast afternoon walking on a beach, staring at the sea, remembering the last time he had visited this place with his family.  Genji had only been six or seven, not quite old enough for their mother to trust him in the water by himself.  Hanzo had held his hand as they waded, the waves crashing over their feet.

Hanzo realizes that he has lived nearly a quarter of his life without a brother now.  He has lived for nearly eight years with his younger brother’s blood on his hands.  He has lived estranged from the Shimada Clan for nearly as long.

When the innkeeper laments to him that her son has suddenly taken ill, he finds himself offering to cover his shift as a server.  Hanzo enjoys the busy work.  The kinds of people looking for him do not eat at small inns like this one.  The stakes are low.  It is a chance to work with his hands and talk to people without the burdens of suspicion, and of course he is free to spend some time after his shift drinking.

The years weigh heavy on Hanzo.  He suddenly regrets that he spent so much time drinking and so much time taking jobs and killing for money just so that he could drink more.  It is true that he has a reputation as a mercenary, but is that truly the reputation he wants to carry into his old age?  He will always be looking over his shoulders for the next assassin.  He destroyed his father’s name and legacy and built nothing to replace to it.

Hanzo moves on from the inn two weeks later.  He sits in a _shinkansen_ and looks at the press of people around him.  Many of them are buried in their phones as they read the news or tap away at games, but here and there are a group of school children or aunties whispering to each other and giggling.

Hanzo realizes he is lonely.  He has not had a friend or even simply someone he could trust since his father died and his aunt started casting her shadow over the Shimada Clan.  He has been isolated, first against his will, then by his own choice.  There is no one left alive who could understand what he had gone through, who could understand who he _was_.

Deep in the mountains, Hanzo books another room.  He soaks in a natural hot spring and looks at the stars.  He is not used to indecision or insecurity.  He has always known who he was meant to be. 

 _I am tired_ , Hanzo thinks. 

The stars are small but bright.  They twinkle coldly.

* * *

Hanzo returns to Hanamura, as he always does.  He sweeps his childhood home.  He sleeps in his childhood bedroom for a week.  He prays to his brother on the anniversary of the day that he murdered him. 

The next day, he takes a deep breath and stretches.  The mural on the wall watches over him as he moves through a familiar routine, feeling his entire body come alive as he works his muscles.  His tattoo warms.

For the first time in nearly a decade, dragons roar in Hanamura.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (as much as it aches, this is probably the closest thing to peace hanzo has ever known)
> 
> So two weeks ago I was playing it coy but I do absolutely intend to finish Genji's companion piece, so this is a warning that I might not update next week. I want the two fics to be consistent with each other so I'm going to wait until I finish Genji before I finish posting Hanzo. I have high hopes a delay will not be necessary, but also I'm really Tired so I don't want to make any promises.
> 
> Kudos, comments, impatient but enthusiastic yelling, etc. all keep me going. Much love!


	10. (1 year ago)

Hanzo travels the world as a tourist.  He is – not retired, exactly.  On hiatus.  Inactive.  As he tells anyone inquiring after him for business, he’s pursuing something else at the moment.  He feels like he is balancing his life on a knife’s edge.  On one side: the world as he knew it, where he believed it was his duty to kill his brother.  On the other side: the world as he might dare want it to be, where Genji had been allowed to live as he wished.  Where Hanzo had made a different choice.

Then he reads the news in the papers.  He is shocked, angry, and nearly curses out loud in a small French café before he catches himself.  It is a tiny section in the newspaper, just an interest piece for anyone who might have a fondness for such niche things.

Shimada Castle has been sold.  Hanzo dimly recognizes the name of its new proprietor and his heart sinks.  It is an old pseudonym of his aunt’s.  A thousand possibilities run through his mind.  Surely she and the rest of the elders have not been released.  Is she working with someone from the outside?  It is certainly a possibility. 

Hanzo is a fool.  He had allowed himself to believe that any bureaucracy could truly contain an organization like the Shimada Clan.  He had allowed himself to relax, to believe that he could move on and become someone else.  That he could change himself and maybe even change the world.

 _I am Hanzo Shimada_ , he thinks, _and I cannot escape myself_.

* * *

Hanzo plunges back into the underworld, lurking in the shadows, gathering what information he can.  Within a week, Japanese criminal organizations start declaring their humble respect to the Shimada Clan.  Those that had swept into the vortex of power, profiting off of the clan’s misfortune, all see their eldest sons drop dead, one after another. 

Hanzo takes it personally. 

Whatever his aunt had been doing in prison for six years, she is wasting no time or effort now in reconsolidating her power.  For weeks all anyone talks about is the triumphant return of his family.  Hanzo stays out of sight.  The less anyone knows about him in this moment, the better.

Hanzo encounters two assassins on his way to Hanamura and they leave little doubt in his mind that his aunt is actively seeking him again.  He successfully evades the first, hoping that they might report to his aunt that he could not be found, but the second is much more experienced and dogged and Hanzo is forced to kill him.

 _There is no peace for me_ , Hanzo thinks as he pulls an arrow from the body.

* * *

The security at Shimada Castle is lacklustre.  Hanzo takes down four patrolling guards without any trouble, careful enough that he is confident none of them even saw his face.  He moves through the buildings cautiously, but it becomes clear soon enough that there is no one living on the grounds.  The sparse patrols are only to protect an investment, so to speak.  The castle is a symbol of power.

His offerings to his brother are given quickly and silently.  Hanzo does his best to give Genji the respect he deserves while he stays alert for the possibility of any more security guards.  There is no more time for long and contemplative conversations into the night.

Hanzo has work to do.

There is an ancient criminal organization that needs dismantling, again.  And he will do it his way this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost to the end! And Genji's companion piece is now completed as well!! It's similar in tone but quite different in feeling, I think, so please look forward to it.
> 
> Kudos, comments, enthusiastic yelling, etc. all keep me going. Much love to all, especially those who have followed me through until now!


	11. (now)

It is – to say the least – an eventful night for Hanzo. 

He breaks into Shimada Castle again without any problem.  His aunt’s men are as unreliable as ever and fall, one after another. 

But for the first time in a decade, his offerings are interrupted.

* * *

When Genji vanishes in a cloud of smoke, Hanzo only makes it a few steps before he falls to his knees in shock.  His bow drops to the wooden floor with a clatter beside him.

He does not know what to do.  Thoughts race through his mind, a thousand per second, unceasing, as his mind replays the scene over and over.  He combs through the mechanical voice and omnic body, looking for memories of his brother.  He thinks about Genji’s face – Genji’s scars.

Hanzo is now a person who did not kill their own brother. 

The danger of being discovered pushes some sense of urgency back into him and he walks numbly back into the dojo.  He sees his interrupted offerings and returns to them, moving through the motions.  He watches incense drift into the air.

It is a strange thing.  A weight has lifted from his chest.  He cannot describe what it feels like to know he had not listened to his brother’s last breath – but also to know that he is responsible for the scars, the artificial body.

Hanzo had struck to kill and he had left his brother for dead.  He has lived his life, for ten years afterwards, as if he was gone.  Hanzo was the heir of the Shimada Clan, after all.  He was an expert assassin and combatant.  Genji had not even fought back.  Surely Hanzo should have known if he was alive or not.

_But Genji is alive_.

The incense swirls, floating ever upwards.  Hanzo has found a lot of peace in this ritual over the years.  He wonders how much Genji has seen of them, if he had heard any of the conversations Hanzo had had late into the night.  He does not know how he would repeat any of it to him now.

But it would have been easy for someone familiar with this date to trace the motivation behind Hanzo’s travels the past decade.  Hanzo knows, in some rational part of him, that Genji is taking stabs in the dark as well.  His accusations hit hard, but they are ten years removed.  Neither of them know each other as the men they are now.

_Of course he hates the incense offerings_.

Hanzo gets up.  He walks away on unsteady feet.  He wants – he wants Genji back, here, now, so he can hug him close, feel his body against his.  So that he can speak with him again without weapons drawn.

But Genji’s body is not the same, and it is Hanzo’s fault.  And Genji himself is not the same, and it is despite Hanzo’s actions.  And most importantly he, Hanzo, is not the same, and does not deserve his brother’s forgiveness.

Hanzo can barely remember the last time he and his brother were truly on good terms.  There are flashes of good memories, but he knows that ever since he hit his teens all he wanted to be was a proper heir.  It seemed all Genji had ever wanted to do was oppose him.

Memories are a lot easier when the other person is dead.

_Perhaps I am a fool to think there is still hope for you._

The words are recent and fresh in his mind, yet Hanzo already feels like they are slipping away from him.  His brother, alive.  It is incomprehensible.  How had Hanzo never heard?  Why had Genji chosen to reveal himself now?

_But I do._

Genji is alive, and all Hanzo had done was try to kill him again.  He was not – whatever Genji wanted him to be.  He could not be.

_Think on that, brother._

A sparrow chirps in the darkness, oblivious to how things in the world should be.

Hanzo leaves Shimada Castle as the sun rises.  For the first time in a decade, he has no intentions of returning in a year’s time.  Let ghosts lie in the past where they may.  He seeks a different path now.

Hanzo chases a future where Genji _lives_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you guys, but I feel like I just let out a breath I've been holding for about two months. WHEW. We did it. Hanzo's story is really only just beginning, but we've finally caught up to where he is now.
> 
> If you've made it this far, thank you SO much!! I love each and every one of you guys, and I hope you'll join me for the next go around with Genji. As always, kudos, comments, etc. are all appreciated!


End file.
